


Consecration

by padawanhilary, Telesilla



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe: Fantasy, Deathfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-03
Updated: 2006-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padawanhilary/pseuds/padawanhilary, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brand new priest of the Death God consecrates his temple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consecration

**Author's Note:**

> Really, I'm just going to have to ask you to trust us and believe me when I say that this one has a happy ending in spite of the warning.

The rabbit had died quickly. It was a good omen and Elijah felt a little better about his posting as he carefully daubed blood on each corner of the altar. He chanted the minor names of his God as he worked, hoping that his conduct as a priest of Death would do honor to the Dark Lord and His Order. It wasn't a large temple; in fact, it was a small, out of the way place in a quiet farming community, but it was Elijah's temple and he wanted everything to be perfect.

This part of the ritual over, he stripped off his simple black robe and took up the whip, looking at its heavy rope tails with some anticipation. The very fact that he found pleasure in pain was one of the reasons he'd been made a priest of the Final Lord and he felt no small amount of pride in knowing that before he was done, the rabbit's blood would no longer be the only blood on the altar.

Kneeling on the altar, facing north, Elijah took a deep breath, shivering a little as the cold air chilled his naked body. "I offer You this pain, Lord of Night," he said softly. "In the hope that You will bless this, Your temple, and me, Your servant." His prayer complete, he brought the whip down hard on his back, gasping a little at the feel of it.

The slaying of the rabbit meant little; such rituals were often performed by the people -- by young lovers as a warding, by old mothers as a beckoning, by hunters as a plea for a good meal.

No, it was the careful execution of the beginnings of the ritual and then...then, it was the delicious tang of pain, and no cloying begging for release, not here. It was the softness of devotion and the hardness of self-inflicted pain, and it went on and on until the fascination made it undeniable. It was the respect inherent in the words, in the names, that gave Death pause, made Him raise His head. He seldom coalesced for scenes such as these, but the scent of blood, so seldom given so willingly, had roused Him.

Elijah didn't know if the way the air felt--thick and charged with energy, like the moment before lightning struck--was something he was only imagining or if his ritual had called the energy forth. He was used to the way his senses became heightened as he beat himself, but this felt different and it was a struggle to keep his attention on the steady rhythm of the harsh beating he was inflicting on his shoulders and back.

The gasps and moans decided Him, and though He could not smile, He felt the desire for this young priest surge through him. He swept through the room all at once, circling, a wisp of air and incense until He solidified behind the boy-priest, a dark, wraithlike apparition with twisting marks across His face and thick heat emanating from His body. He leaned close behind the priest, scenting the blood, inhaling hungrily.

The sudden presence of someone behind him made Elijah jump and he dropped the rope whip, turning to see who had dared interrupt his ritual. His mouth fell open as he saw the man behind him, his strangely pale face marked with the tattoos of a High Priest, although Elijah had never seen this configuration before. "How...how may I serve you, Elder Brother?" he asked, suddenly aware that he was naked and hard before this stranger's disconcerting gaze.

Death had no voice. He only watched, the desire surging for this boy-priest and filling Him. He took in the fresh blood dressing the altar, consecrating it, the erection, the need filling the air, and He inhaled again, pleased.

"I...please," Elijah stammered, suddenly aware that this was no normal person he was dealing with. Looking at the robe the man wore, much like Elijah's own except that it seemed light enough to move in a breeze that wasn't really there, he wondered if he was dealing with one of the Right Hands, the God's own warriors. _Or,_ he thought, his pulse going quick, _one of His Left Hands._ He shivered again; few men faced the sorcerous Assassins and lived.

"Please," he said again. "Please be welcome in this place."

Baring His teeth, the Lord leaned closer, reaching a thin, pale hand out to the boy-priest's chest. He watched, tilting His head in interest as His finger left a pale trail behind it, His very touch leeching the life out of the skin under it. Oh, He was welcomed, that much He already knew.

The touch was terrifying and yet, even as Elijah felt his skin lose sensation as that finger traveled over it, he knew he was not dealing with a mortal man. "My Lord," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Father of Night, I am Your servant."

Those eyes closing...that was beautiful, a sweet gesture of surrender. The Lord moved closer, careful not to touch too much -- He did not want to drain His servant of all life before He was finished, and now He knew very well what He wanted. Pointing to the floor, He shed His robe, letting it fall, almost mist-like, to pool on the floor. Most of the methods by which men took pleasure escaped Him, but He understood enough to know that this boy-priest had earned, by his devotion, some form of familiarity.

It took every ounce of control Elijah had to keep him from scrambling off the altar like an eager child at Midwinter. But this was his God, and the last thing Elijah wanted to do was look clumsy or foolish in His sight. Kneeling before the Dark Lord, he bowed his head down until it touched the cold tiles in front of the God's feet. "Command me, My Lord, and I will obey."

The obedience, like the blood, was most welcome. Death bared His teeth and pointed to the oil on the altar. He rested a hand on the priest's forehead, gifting him with a vision of Death taking him, bent over the altar like two animals rutting.

The pain was blinding, like the headaches Elijah sometimes got after drinking red wine, and he moaned, acutely aware that in spite of the pain, he was still quite hard. His forehead still throbbing, he crawled to the altar reaching for the oil.

Although his Order did not demand celibacy of its priests and while there had been acolytes aplenty who would have gladly lain down with him, Elijah had never accepted any of the offers. He'd been too busy studying and learning everything he could.

He knew, however, what men did when they fucked; many of his friends had told him in detail that he later remembered when touching himself in the night. And so he dipped his fingers in the oil and slid two of them between his cheeks, moaning at the feel as his muscle stretched. It was impossible to imagine the God's erection, so large and pale with the same black markings decorating it, fitting inside him and yet right now, Elijah wanted nothing more.

For Death to take Himself down to this realm, onto this plane for a mere priest was an oddity; it had not been done in centuries. Yet there was something compelling about this one, something He could use in the Afterworld. Someone He could keep. For that reason, He felt more than willing to meet the boy-priest on his own animal level.

He allowed the preparation to go on only briefly, but then He gripped a wiry arm in His hand, controlling His touch so that it would not steal so much life so quickly. He pushed the priest down over the altar, drinking in the startled moan as He pressed His hand against the small of that narrow back, holding him in place.

When He pushed in, it was deep bliss, all of the boy-priest's pain and pleasure mingling, doubling over between them, shared.

It hurt, of course, but Elijah expected it to. He hadn't expected the deep chill of His cock, but even that was incredible, so much better than the feel of the whip. "Please," he moaned, pushing back hard and gasping at the sharp pain of it. "Please Lord...."

He had no idea what the priest begged for, but it hardly mattered. He drove in harder, taking His priest, and it was through His sex that He could feel the near-scorching heat of His new acolyte's body, every touch of skin on skin stealing more life away.

Elijah wasn't sure when he realized he wouldn't survive this. He would have figured it out sooner, but he supposed he could hardly be blamed for not thinking clearly at a time like this. His Lord's skin was like ice and, like ice, was stealing the heat and feeling away from Elijah's body. The open whip marks across his back felt as though cold wine had been splashed on them and Elijah was soon screaming as each thrust of the God's cock burned him from within.

For Death, every life taken was a climax of its own -- but the base orgasm belonged to the gods of fertility and pleasure, to the powers of creation. Death simply took, His power increasing with every thrust and scream. He ran His tongue, cold and fiery, over the whip marks, tasting the blood there and elating in it, licking and fucking His servant as the cold gray overtook the warmth. It went on for minutes or hours -- how long did not matter. What mattered was that His new boy-priest now knew his Master, and his Master was pleased.

Elijah could feel himself getting weaker, and although the pain inside him seemed him seemed to increase, everywhere touched by the chill tongue of the God was going numb. He knew the very life was leeching out of him and he welcomed the inevitable ending of this coupling. "With you," he moaned, too weak to scream. "Please Lord, take Your servant," he murmured as the world around him grew dark. "Let my death please You...."

One last thrust of that icy hardness and then Elijah's climax hit him. He managed one last scream, grateful that the God allowed him to have this simple human pleasure before taking him into the Darkness. "Yours," he gasped and then the temple seemed to go dark around him as the last of the feeling left his body. He heard a rush, as if the ocean were washing over him, and then there was silence and darkness.

_Mine._ Death pushed away from the chill young body, now empty. He stretched out a hand and called His robes to him, tipping His head back as they swirled around Him to clothe Him again. When He lowered his chin, there was His boy-priest in robes like His own, the markings of a Minion swirling over his face and the skin hidden by the robes. On his neck and wrists were deep black rings, collar and cuffs formed from stones not of the earth, reflecting no light. They proclaimed him as a servant of the Final Lord, but separating them from all of His other Minions' decorations were small red stones, centered on the rings like droplets of blood carefully laid. Death did not share Himself with many; this one was well-chosen indeed.

For a moment there had been nothing, and then Elijah found himself breathing again. He looked around and then down at himself, taking in the strange adornments and remembering the statues of the Dark Minions that decorated the greater temples. _Your servant, Lord,_ he said, a little surprised when no sound passed his lips. He knelt nonetheless, knowing that the God had heard him.

_Mine._ Death placed His hand on the Minion's head, a formal declaration of His choosing. _Now follow._ When He turned to leave the temple, He knew that He was wise in taking this one. The rats and flies would have that body, and then the worms would finish him, but this way...The Lord could keep His own.

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> The story was inspired by the pictures in this [post](http://telesilla.livejournal.com/441925.html) and written in the course of one evening. Thank you to [](http://darkrosetiger.livejournal.com/profile)[**darkrosetiger**](http://darkrosetiger.livejournal.com/) for the quick beta.


End file.
